"bossa" poems
Small and observant,
this girl child already loves her solitude.
Dark eyes taking in everything for much later,
long hair a little mussed-up, tumbling over feet pyjamas,
she stands quietly in the doorway of her little bedroom.
Across old parquet floors, into spare white rooms
she gazes at the grown-ups in their party clothes,
secretly planning that someday she will be one of them.
Plain white origami birds, suspended from the high
vintage ceilings, hand-made from her poet-mother's
typing paper, are the only decorations.
The soft, indirect lighting, all invented by her father
out of simple things, creates a perfect visual tone.
This quiet inventor has also chosen jazz he loves
to animate the evening for his friends.
These grown-ups in their party clothes,
yellows, greens and reds, puffy skirts, stiletto heels,
men in simple suits, white shirts, thin black ties,
talented painters, holocaust survivors, intellectuals,
talking, laughing, smoking too much, martini glasses in hand.
What stayed with her most was the music, and the way
it brought the whole world right to her.
Jazz from here in her native city,
Soft, sultry Bossa Nova that her soul knew even better.
Only some of what she saw that night became the life she chose.
The intimacy of observing, of silently forming words around
what she saw, talking and laughing with friends,
loving passionately, getting scorched to the bone,
and the music, the music....
The music would always stay with her, leading her across
wide expanses of this beautiful old world
to the parts of it that she would someday taste, and see.
Her life would become the stretching wide open of her heart.
To love it all, to write about it all.
to give this back, someday,
to the music, and to this big, beautiful old world.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
Kay sarap pagmasdan ang nilikha ng Diyosang pagka-berde ng mga halamanang pagka-asul ng karagatannakakamangha ang nalikhang kagandahanKay sarap maramdaman nilikha ng Diyosang pagdampi sa'king pisngi ng init ng araw ang lamig ng hanging sumasalubong sa'king bawat galawnananalanging sana'y malasap sa bawat arawKay gandang marinig ang nilikha ng Diyosang sari-saring tunog ng mga ibon sa kagubatan ang pag-tunog ng hip hop na kanta sa di kalayuan tapos biglang bossa naman...wala...wala...wala...bwiset nawala na ko.nagising sa katotohanang panandalian lang ang katahimikan.talaga nga namang ang likha ng tao'y dulot ay kaguluhan.
Feb 21, 2010
Feb 21, 2010 at 4:19 PM UTC
This is the sparkle jams
the worldwide reunion
bossa nova bossa nova
and the spiraling citadels too
so we've left center sparkle
tippie-toed around barnyard animal numero dos
and now its frankincense
fester more please
best suit is now being worn and they really don't like it
I'm disappointed sometimes with my clothing choice but who cares
why not right go blowout fashion booming large
it's panic attacks and leftover cheese nugget from last saturday
now I'm with the in crowd
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 6:49 PM UTC
It was a throwback party
Of the Bossa Nova
Staying up late until
The dance was over.
The Latin beat pounding,
The music was everything
It was so happy sounding.
Bossa Nova was king.
It is the cousin to samba
And in Brazil it is the way
To party with your amigos
Partying the night away.
Dancing like the music
Lives inside your soul.
Much livelier than cha cha
Twice as hot as rock and roll.
It was a throwback party
Of the Bossa Nova
Staying up late until
The dance was over.
Time to wear **** clothing
Girls in dresses up so high
Men in calças they can dance in
Oba! How the hours fly.
Music, sometimes words
And a strong and ***** beat
Drive away the daily worries
And put the rhythm in the feet.
It was a throwback party
Of the Bossa Nova
Staying up late until
The dance was over.
The Latin beat pounding,
The music was everything
It was so happy sounding.
Bossa Nova was king.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
The internal battle..eternal....(one from the vault)
Lucifer and Jehovah dancing some mad bossa nova
While angels on horse backs fought devils with black jacks
The white dove of peace had surrendered his lease
So God ripped off his wings.. he no longer sings
Then the Devil ripped out his heart so it could end at the start.
Wagner and Chopin got frightened..
..and off they ran.
But Beethoven and Bach were sat in the park
Composing arias to fight Hells hot fires.
While Chekhov and Handel burned coramandel
But the smoke from that pyre stank like a byre.
Socrates was sat dispensing the ethics
Hippocrates swore while dishing out medics
The Muses were musing one or two were enthusing
Oooh look.. the good against sinner
Let's go down the bookies and have a bet on the winner.
Cometh the day cometh the morn
Cometh the hour cometh the dawn.
Here is Joshua blowing his horn
And here comes Gabriel but all that he meets
Are the countless dead lining up on the streets
And the wounded and deathbound far far below
I feel sorry for Gabriel I wish he could go.
But Picasso arrives and cries
My God it's my Guernica I'll do a pastiche
Oh F*ck it he says and has a pastis (or two)
Then Pollack turns up totally ******
Picks up a paint and says what I have missed?
What a fantastic sight.. angels flashing demons crashing
The hounds of Hell with teeth a gnashing
Then Neptune arrives astride his watery chariot
Scything through Demons and sat beside Judas Iscariot
Mermen and mermaids mercilessly slayed
By Beelzebubs prototypes
Those that live in the black nights.
But as the dawn breaks God knows what it takes
So he sends for his legions calls out to all regions
Take arms and do battle
Till we hears Satans death rattle.
And the heavens rip asunder to the sound of the thunder.
Satan rings on Hells bell.. tells them all is not well
Then disappears from our sight as if he's turned off the light.
Then I awake with a start knowing that I've been a part
Of something vast something grand
A spiritual war being fought in this land
I am alive and I shall survive.
PRAISE BE.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 9:08 AM UTC
Bossa nova, Barcelona, Box and two weeks over,
Music to get hold of,
Newly weds to Right said Fred,
Calypso spot light sun beams down a twinkle baked shoulder to strike a pose.
Bossa nova, what's on, record it,
Promote It with some guile,
He She who stole it,
With limelight their staged arena owned it,
He She dished out the smiles,
They clapped as the show survives,
They danced to each others beat,
Bebop a lula its jive came unique.
Accapella, Bossa nova, Hosanna from the highest,
Bossa nova, a rock n roller, a ballad till midnight,
Encore if you got through the night in hindsight,
Stage Fright had this moment,
What is going on?
Bingo numbers,
Feathers a house!
Bossa nova it aint over till its over as for a starlight it may strike the board with a star face in the sun.
Now maybe, maybe not that's a Bossa nova!
O'Reily@20082014
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
****lovely Saturday morning....
might we dance a bit today
to ease off some sadness?****
DANCE
(A repost...some editing done)
The neighbor's stereo was playing tango music
too loud, it made me look at my red painted toes...
i realized, my feet hadn't even swayed
for so long now,
they've grown timid...and wary
All i want is to dance,
to be safe, warm,
close to one, as close as
cheek to cheek,
go left, then right,
lean, cling, then hold hands,
be held on the waist,
dip, then circle gracefully,
and step, a stretched arm away,
be brought closer once again,
hearing clearly the sighs
as the music reaches a high.
But, it was a chicken dance i had joined then,
the shaking and jiggling were so
repulsive...convulsive...confusing.
it mattered not who fell out of the beat
the desire waned,
fires die,
fires died, alright.
My feet are raring to swing back,
to be alive once more
on life's dance floor
no more falls, trips or missteps this time
just steps with a slower beat
with more grace now,
who knows,
this could be my best dance
ever!
This has got to feed my jazzy mood
play my chosen music
maybe do the shimmy for a while,
then shift to the bossa nova,
swing to its cool, hip-py rhythm.
Whatever the beat may be,
my partner and i,
we shall blend in while we do the mambo,
the rumba, cha-cha, even tap dance,
to celebrate this new chance on life.
I only wish that on our first dance together,
we may dance the samba on the wide floor,
let the hours fly by.
Then, with a waltz, we'll take it easy
until we finally get weary,
until we decide....to slow drag
the night away.
************
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
After the 24th revolution of the longhand
on the clock, the radio plays bossa nova jazz
all night and me, I sit awake in an empty
studio replaying the day in my head as I
row alone across the lake of my notebook
as some now-deceased artist sings about
a 17-year old girl living on Montenegro St.
as beads of moonlight drip from the blade
of the paddle back into the lake as my arms
push and pull and push and pause mid-row
to catch the rhythm and blues of solitude.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 2:19 AM UTC
You've got to have some rhythm if you're going to boogie down.
At the latest tango hotspot at the Roxy in the town.
The principles of foxtrot and the sways of swing will show.
That dancing with your heart will always make your passion flow.
When the bossa nova starts and the lady sings the blues.
The time is now to shake your hips and don your dancing shoes.
You trip the light fantastic, your shoulders shake in time.
Your fingers snap and feet will tap along to mambo rhyme.
The rumba stirs the frenzy of your heart in Latin beats.
You feel the crazy samba in the footsteps on the streets.
Your ready for your spotlight doing cha cha cha and jive.
You can never stop the lindy hop to keep your soul alive.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 5:27 AM UTC
Dance
The neighbor's stereo was playing tango music
too loud, it made me look at my red painted toes.
I realized, my feet have not even swayed
for so long now,
they've grown timid and wary
of making the wrong step.
All i want is to dance,
to be safe, warm,
close to one, as close as
cheek to cheek,
go left, then right,
lean, cling, then hold hands,
be held on the waist,
dip, then circle gracefully,
and step, a stretched arm away,
be brought closer once again,
hearing clearly the sighs
as the music reaches a high.
But, it was a chicken dance i had joined then,
the shaking and jiggling were so
repulsive...convulsive
confusing.
it mattered not who fell out of the tempo.
the desire waned,
fires die,
fires died, alright.
My feet are raring to swing back
to be alive once more
on life's dance floor
no more falls, trips or missteps this time
i'd like to dance with a slower beat
with more grace now
who knows,
this could be my best dance
ever!
This has got to feed my jazzy mood
play my chosen music
maybe do the shimmy for a while,
then shift to the bossa nova,
swing to its cool, hip-py rhythm.
Whatever the beat may be,
my partner and i...
we shall blend in......be it mambo,
the rumba, cha-cha, even tap dance,
to celebrate this new chance on life.
Together,
we shall dance the samba on the wide floor,
let the hours fly by.
Then, with a waltz, we'll take it easy
until we finally get weary,
until we decide
to slow drag
the night
away.
*************
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
'What shall we talk about today?'
Spin, spin, spin the conversation
into loops and recapitulations.
Cassettes were my sustenance but
a vinyl record spins on the turntable.
Won't you tell me what song is playing right now?
Rests, then
block chords, then
swing-swung rhythm.
Then,
unexpected concords.
Where did those blue notes come from?
And colour our red, some supposed red, into
purple?
But jazz has always been unpredictable.
I grew up on the clarity and
gravity
of soft pink time;
pearl-notes to the steady, steady,
steady
beat of a metronome.
But now,
now?
Syncopation.
My
beat
against your
beat
and we make a violently violet
bossa nova.
Suddenly the classically trained flautist
has time-travelled to her very first lesson.
Because no sound flutters out of the mouthpiece
and her fingers can't keep up.
Swing-swung
syncopation
and she doesn't know to breathe anymore.
Where did those blue notes come from?
Silence.
Have we reached the final double bar?
The cadence is imperfect,
unresolved.
Listen, a cold snap of instant jazz
knocked us over.
Arms clasped, teeth chat-chat-
chattering.
1,
2,
3 -
A not-quite waltz.
But jazz has always been unpredictable.
Won't you tell me what song is playing right now?
I think we know what it is but can't figure it out.
And so Cole Porter and Billie Holiday save us
from
fading out.
'Let's do it, let's fall in-"
I don't want this song to be over.
I don't even know what it's called
but
don't let it end, don't let it,
don't
don't
don't.
I can't cook but I think
I can make
instant jazz.
And you,
and you...
You'll write dizzy like
a Coltrane solo.
As you do.
And I'll lay down my flute,
struggle out of my red minuet and
wonder:
Where did those blue notes come from?
But jazz has always been unpredictable.
'What shall we talk about now?'
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
olney transportation center.
i put my bag down in the plastic seat next to me and allow the cool musty subway air envelope my senses. the lights are too fluorescent, **** they’re bright. my chest fills with pressure, the cap at my throat holding on desperately to stay put, stay tight. don’t scream. my breath is getting harder now. why do they even hang out with that person? it doesn’t make sense to me. my music gets louder in my ears, smooth bossa nova pounding brain waves. focus on the lyrics. they make me too angry. my lungs are struggling to hang onto the air, it’s coming in and out of my nostrils too fast. my throat is getting too dry, but my water bottle is too heavy. i don’t want to pick it up, i want to keep thinking. why won’t they just listen to me? why won’t they see things my way? how long is this song? it seems like it’s been forever. i’ve passed galaxies and worlds in this subway tunnel, the stars too fast for my eyes to grasp. i can’t think my way out of this one. no amount of thoughts flying around my head can fix the necessity of simply doing nothing. my hand is forced to be empty. i need to bluff. it’s way too bright in here.
logan.
thank god this song is over. i’m going to do homework instead. i don’t like this song very much, but i’m not going to change it. maybe i should turn off the music so i can read better.
wyoming.
hunting park.
erie.
allegheny.
i think i’ll be home soon. i don’t like what they did today, i should listen to my mom more. my eyes are really heavy, i wish i went to bed earlier today. maybe i’ll take a nap when i get home.
susquehanna dauphin.
cecil b. moore.
i don’t like this stop today.
girard.
time is back up to speed. maybe i’ll go to chinatown, buy some moon cakes. the mid autumn festival passed already, i wish i could’ve gone. i don’t really care for half of the things i say i like. maybe it’s a labor of love, to lie about liking something. or maybe i just don’t have the ability to say i don’t like something. but i know i dislike things. i dislike how bright these lights are, **** my migraine is getting stronger. i want to go home. i am going home.
fairmount.
my throat feels like a desert. time to put my phone down. my head hurts too much.
Sep 20, 2022
Sep 20, 2022 at 2:52 PM UTC
I left my heart with a girl from brazil
'you remind me of a tiger'
I thought
as she walked in the bar
she had brown eyes
bronze curves
copper curls
a camera hung from her neck
a denim rucksack on her back
she was an oasis
in the desert of my boredom
a ray of sunshine in my darkness
but was she a miracle
or just a mirage?
only one way to know
and that meant having the ***** to approach her
I reached down between my thighs
to check on the gentlemen.
yep, still there.
so I approached her
and she smiled with great curiosity
as our conversation began
her voice was soft as sand
being washed by waves on the ocean shore
she was like
a walking talking
bossa nova sound track
she was a gift from the favelas
a flower from brazil
and I was drawn to her
like a sad man to a violin
Jun 28, 2017
Jun 28, 2017 at 12:50 PM UTC
You are standing in front of me
but only you face is here.
2 years and 2 months
of chocolates with nuts,
pizzas on a Saturday night,
sticky bed sheets
and bossa nova songs.
2 years and 2 months of
sexually harassing my mind
with words, promises and
comfort food.
2 years and 2 months of
building a home.
But hey, look:
You burned it down and now
it smells like death, fried chicken
and *****
There is a replacement of me now
washing the dishes and making the bed,
just like i did and just like how i was
a replacement of someone else.
And this is pretty much how
The days will go by.
Like we are all new actors
on the same old set.
Changing furniture around
and the pictures on the walls
and buying new plants
that will soon die
and soon will be replaced,
just like everything else.
And you will keep swapping right
in everything that smiles
with insecurity
and the burned house
will be built again
and you will buy more plants
and more useless antiques
and you will swap more to the right
and every year of your life
will be a new season
On a the same old series
That everyone loves to hate.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 5:02 AM UTC
Here we are again
At the same restaurant
Listening to the same bossa nova tune
Our feet are tapping
This setting is too familiar
"Let's leave this place"
And you agree, wholeheartedly
"Yes, darling. Let's make new adventures"
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
The waltz is almost over
together on our toes
today we dance the quickstep
in depths of winter's throes
that's how it goes-
one season to another.
We tried the bossa nova
discovering new steps
a pas de deux by moonlight
united in our quest
for what was best-
from one year to another.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2012
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 6:30 AM UTC
gentle water
lapping the hull
bossa nova
clinking glasses
a tickle
of the piano's ivory keys
and you're lost
in giant strawberries
of a daiquiri
dribbling down your chin
onto your palm frond top
and shorts while you
swing and sway
poolside
tomorrow Ocho Rios Jamaica
but today sun and sea
tonight the crown stars
and a ruby juicy
fingernail moon
Whit Howland © 2019
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 4:54 AM UTC
Ambition,
Like green ivy,
Is a twisting thing.
She scales walls meant
To divide,
Uplifting spirits like bossa nova
To new highs.
Objects in the sky
Beyond the naked eye's locus
Descend into focus
Filling voids of mind
With lasik clarity.
Super-headed fuel
Refined for
Optimal thought production.
Problems complex appear
Then recede as your motivation
Bleeds like coletrane
through life's storms;
And seeds of preparation
Bear fruit....
~ P
(#BossaNova)
1/12/2015
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
Let's get tanned on the beach of Ipanema,
Where the breeze is always lively and artistic.
We'll climb Arpoador just to watch the sunset behind The Two Brothers as it casts color on the sandy bay.
As the night draws in we will head to a restaurant, where the air is drunk with bossa nova music and dance our night away.
Jun 19, 2020
Jun 19, 2020 at 1:16 PM UTC
Not the way you touch my hand so lightly as you speak.
Not the way your eyes ooze into my will.
Oh no, Not that.
Not the way you breath so softly as you sleep.
I cozy up to your face on the pillow savor every breath.
Silently I yearn to share every essence of you.
Not your mouth.your lips that quiver with anticipation
as I draw you close to me. a preamble of what is to be
unspeakable pleasure your eyes twin abysses.
Oh no. Please speak a word. any word.
Now my darling for every whisper is a symphony.
a treasure like no other.Each more priceless than the other.
Your hands were made to hold my heart forever and no other.
Slender fingers serpentine. to slither and caress. Oh sweetheart
My love My dearest your hips they sway a pulsing rhythm that I can
hear, a bossa nova.Cool and warm is your charm.
Have I not loved before?
No.
Clearly,This way is like no other.
I lay awake on endless nights and shudder.
Wipe the silent tears away.Mourn the day
when I have lost your way to another.
I do so love you.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
I'll wear the seduced horizons
and you'll drug me with silence
or rhyme bossa nova in my blood
air, tears, poetry, color
just names for the hunger of that space
in between my train of thoughts
when it happens -
the scent of you in the morning
and dried flowers in your eyes
it's just...
the hand forgets the handle
and the feet unlock the weight
soon baby, soon
there will be something singing
when skies are flowing
and wonders can/should/might
give me some
of your bright
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 8:15 AM UTC
my Aline
was a
queen and
matrix of
my love
that adored
jazz that
bossa nova
did herd
her tailspin
that my
kiss blew
magic with
her clement
till a
thaw in
January regret
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 9:04 AM UTC
I was listening to roller skating tunes.
Yes, I am shallow, sir.
And though thou may say villainess or mistress,
I am content to be who I am.
One noon, we were over dull
and our hearts we serviced
like two thieves there
in the kissing place
where breaths are both as one
and the first of many kisses doubles.
He made vows in mine ear.
He has such hands and lips
and his fortunate nature fed mine eyes
oh, nothing was scarce.
Our horns locked together
with the intensest chutzpah
and we well-made our match.
We sparked feelings we all ascribe to heaven.
I would not tell you
I can serve a man
that by slow designs
men can melt.
He swore oaths
and dropped
half won.
Later he paid
the sweetest
after-debts
—he did owe it.
.
.
songs for this:
Find Me the Pulse of the Universe by Laetitia Sadier
Stormy (Bossa Mix) by S-Tone Inc
Feb 19, 2025
Feb 19, 2025 at 8:26 AM UTC
Farc chica
de Vene
is velvet
scripture but
a muskrat
that's amore
she's made
for lunch
where canta
is sweet
for laughing
while the
bossa nova
teri was
poolside for
the Quakers
of Mohave
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 1:48 PM UTC